


Same Time, Same Place

by miss_pyru



Category: NU'EST
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_pyru/pseuds/miss_pyru
Summary: Minhyun knows it’s a disaster just waiting to happen, every time they meet like this, no matter how they both truly feel.





	Same Time, Same Place

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite dark and damning. (இ ‸ இ✿)  
> Theme song on [loop](https://youtu.be/N00L4ae0QiY).

Jonghyun is standing by the window, anxious and uncomfortable, bathed in bluish-white light and drowned in darkness. He’s been quiet for a while, distant, albeit here, exuding decadence and sin, like another layer of cologne, strong and lingering, that it makes it hard to breathe. Impossible to sleep.

The rainfall pitter-patters against the window in a hollow, repetitive rhythm, and Jonghyun follows the liquid trickle of the raindrops against the glass with the tip of his finger, transfixed. It’s almost surreal how attractive all of this makes him, how beautiful he is that it almost hurts. _His_. But not only. Never only his.

“Hey, you okay?” Minhyun asks as he observes Jonghyun watching the scenery outside, reluctant and uneasy, like Jonghyun would rather be out there in the rain than in this room with him.

It’s a game. A mind game every time. A battle of patience and will, of giving up and giving in. One that Minhyun will lose, he knows, tonight, like all the nights before. Drawn in by Jonghyun’s inviting, predatory silence, by the frigid heat in his gaze, by the _no_ in each of the words he never really says.

“This is the last time,” Jonghyun answers, addressing the raindrop stained window-pane or the red maple tree in the distance, Minhyun’s not sure, but Jonghyun’s definitely not looking at him. “This can’t happen again.”

He said that last time, too, just like the time before, and the time before that. He has said it so many times that the words have lost their weight, the sentence has no frame of reference. He means it though. At least Minhyun thinks he means it. But his goodbye is never the last one, his eyes never say, _“This is it. I’m ending it today.”_

Because he can’t do it. Any more than Minhyun can stop coming to him. Any more than reasons can keep them apart.

Minhyun is starting to believe that Jonghyun says it only because he always says it. Because that’s what he said the first time and the time after, the last time and every time in between. Minhyun believes he has to say it because it’s easier to live with the guilt than to have regrets.

“We’ll have our anniversary soon,” Jonghyun continues, his tone even and erased of every emotion, completely flat.

It’s their third anniversary or it could be the sixth, maybe their tenth. Minhyun doesn’t know.

He can’t even remember how long they’ve been stuck in this time loop, this déjà vu that repeats itself with no regularity, but with stubborn persistence.

All it takes is a few words whispered through the phone or typed quickly over a text message. It’s always the same time, the same place. Though it’s not always planned. Sometimes it’s random days in the week, in the month. Sometimes it’s without any warning at all.

Like today.

The last place Minhyun had expected to run into Jonghyun was at the street market, wandering through the various food stalls with traders hollering for attention.

Minhyun couldn’t help the burst of excitement with a rush of nerves at seeing Jonghyun here, out of all places, in broad daylight. When all the other times he desperately wants to see him, Jonghyun is elusive, just out of reach. Meanwhile, Minhyun is always within reach, even when they’re apart.

Just a figure, one man, a lone wolf, weaving amongst the crowd. A sudden pause, a slight stumble in his step when he recognized Minhyun’s face peeking over the heads of strangers. There was the briefest flash of a smile, a tongue sneaking out to lick at lips turned suddenly dry. A single look, eyes shining, mirroring something more, unsaid between them, and Minhyun felt his chest grow tight with the need for air, the way it always is whenever he’s around Jonghyun.

“I should be with her.”

But he’s not. He’s here instead. Standing at the window of a hotel room, in a different district so those near can’t watch and see and talk, as he regards the rain falling outside. The white and blue zig-zag lines, some simple, some forked, spark across the ashy-gray sky, the play of shadows and light from the stormy clouds ripple on his bare skin, using his body as a projection screen.

Jonghyun’s wearing only a pair of washed-out jeans, faded and torn in a few areas. He’s muscular, but slender, evidence that he’s been on an intense training regime in recent months for whatever reason Minhyun can only appreciate, his pants hanging too low on his narrow hips in spite of the leather belt. Minhyun swears they’re actually sinking even lower as he watches, revealing slivers of that flawless skin beneath and just the beginning of something that matches Minhyun’s own. It’s covered, hidden away, but the thought of it makes Minhyun’s spent body heat up again, setting his blood on fire with lust that never really fades.

He wonders, sometimes, if she can taste him on Jonghyun when he returns to her. The way he can smell her presence on Jonghyun’s skin, like a shadow, an unwanted visitor. If she, maybe, can sense the forbidden touch of wrong on Jonghyun’s skin, the way he can feel it too, every time, in every single touch. Her cloying perfume on the spot beneath Jonghyun’s ear, which always makes him shiver when Minhyun presses his lips there. Or the inner side of Jonghyun’s right thigh, blended into the small scar from a too reckless bike ride when he was younger.

Too many times he’s thought about sending her a message, silent, wordless like a tattoo. To tell her how much Jonghyun likes being with him, how much he enjoys his touches and kisses. How Jonghyun is gentle and patient, and at the same time hungry and desperate. The way their bodies fit together, different and yet so alike. He thinks about leaving evidence for her to find, like a mark somewhere, biting or scratching or bruising Jonghyun’s skin, brand him as his, even though he’s not and never will be. He thinks about it even when he knows that he can’t, even when he has no right to. That if any of them has possession of Jonghyun, it’s _her_.

She’s been there for years. A companion, a girlfriend, and now a wife. Minhyun came much later. He never meant for this happen. He never imagined it would. But he started doing something he never wanted to do. He has become someone he never thought he could be. A part of a love triangle, the other surplus, the mistress— the _paramour_.

He can’t help himself. Not when Jonghyun’s gone, and even less so when he gets to hold him in his arms again, missing the taste of Jonghyun’s kisses, his touches, his scent.

Jonghyun’s like a poison without an antidote. A drug, potent and dangerous, with each use increasing the addiction and, subsequently, the dose. He wishes he could stop. Stop seeing him, wanting him, loving him. He’s tried, more times than he can count, but he always comes back.

He wishes he could hate her. Wishes he could come up with a few reasons, weak and pathetic they may be, and they would probably still be good enough for him, because it’d be so much easier then. But she’s Jonghyun’s, so of course she’s nice, they always are, and pretty too.

He’s met her on a few occasions, and all she talks about is Jonghyun and his job and the amazing apartment they have in Gangnam overlooking the Han River. Minhyun just listens politely for the next thirty minutes as she tells him their entire life history, from how she first met him in college to her wedding day. Her husband, he’s such a good guy, she says, but he’s a typical guy, not terribly emotionally available, no real deep connection, and Minhyun blinks at her as his heart sinks, trying to pretend he isn’t baffled because how can it be that they know the same person? That they fuck the same person. That they _love_ the same person. Jonghyun wants to know everything about Minhyun, and in return he answers all of Minhyun’s questions without hesitation, dropping confidential hints and the more darker, inner portions of himself like the rain outside.

Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe how Minhyun feels around her. Awkward and guilty. Awful. An asshole. But not even that is enough to make him stop.

She doesn’t even know about this, about the two of them. To her, Jonghyun and Minhyun are just friends, colleagues, even though they don’t work together. She doesn’t suspect a thing, couldn’t, what with the way Jonghyun’s so kind and spoiling her, the way he tolerates her, even at her worst. Because Jonghyun loves her, and she knows it. Because he gives her everything she asks for, everything she needs.

It’s just, sometimes, a few days a month, he gives everything he has, everything he is, to Minhyun.

 

♡

 

They met by accident some years ago. Bumped into each other in a shadowed hallway of the same building where they both work, just as Minhyun was rushing out of the elevator, running late for a meeting. There was a thud and a gasp, papers flying to the ground in lazy spirals like early snowflakes, stained with fat drops of the coffee Minhyun had knocked out of the stranger’s hand.

The man looked up at Minhyun, his dark eyes somehow glittering in the dimness, burning embers against Minhyun’s blank coal. Minhyun regarded him in that second it took to see the way the low light fell over the angles of his face, revealing contours of sharp cheekbones and a cleft and the center of a cutting jawline.

He gazed at Minhyun with an intense sort of attention. His expression disarming, yet unpretentious.

Minhyun tried not to be roped in, he really did, but there was something there in the stranger’s eyes, something like a promise, a mystery. Something that guaranteed paradise and trouble at once.

“Ugh, my shirt,” Jonghyun said then, voice thick like honey and warmer than summer, his few words mingling with Minhyun’s litany of humble apologies and, “Please, let me buy you another coffee,” because he’s a dork and idiotic like that.

Jonghyun narrowed his eyes in curiosity, in wonder, and then his mouth curved into a self-conscious and unsure smile that made his whole face light up and that was it.

Minhyun saw the ring, shiny gold with a groove in the middle, glimmering at him like an unwelcome advance. He knew very well what it meant. Knew he was playing with fire as time went on. But his heart refused to listen.

 

♡

 

Pulling away from the bathroom door, Minhyun walks over to Jonghyun, almost jumping right out of his skin when a bolt strikes down, cracking through the sky with an audible sizzle as it touches the moist ground on the horizon. A deafening blow of thunder follows and then it’s Jonghyun’s turn to jerk with a startle. That’s when Minhyun closes in, his hands coming up to settle against Jonghyun’s hips, his fingers sliding over the ridges of his hipbones, dipping beneath the waistband of his jeans. The denim is rough against his bare thighs and Jonghyun’s skin feels almost too hot to touch.

He drags his nose up along the tendon of Jonghyun’s neck, pressing a soft kiss on the spot just below his ear lobe that burns through his lips, and then another one, lower, against the collarbone. He rests his chin on Jonghyun’s shoulder, smiling when Jonghyun leans against him with a low sigh, his hand coming up to entangle his fingers in Minhyun’s still slightly damp hair.

Jonghyun smells good when Minhyun breathes him in, deep, the scent of his cologne reminding him of cold sea water, brisk and edgy. Minhyun finds himself leaning into it, his senses smothered as he buries his face against Jonghyun’s neck just to take more of it in, deeper. He can feel the heat radiating off of Jonghyun’s body, inviting, arousing, so comfortably familiar, leaving an impression, a tingling sensation that quickly develops into a desire for something more.

“Stay with me,” Minhyun whispers in hushed secrecy. Because no one knows they’re here. Because _she_ doesn't know they’re here.

Jonghyun never stays for the night, though, and Minhyun just assumes it’s just another one of Jonghyun’s rules he’ll never really understand.

In all these months, six, eight, twelve, maybe more, he stayed only once, and even then it was only because it was winter and the blizzard had come without warning, forcing them to stay in their hotel room for two whole days. Minhyun always thinks back to that unforgettable weekend, when they were burrowed blissfully beneath soft white blankets, Minhyun pressed up into the warmth and comfort of Jonghyun’s safety, Jonghyun’s hand running down Minhyun’s arm in gentle, soothing motions. They talked about where they would go if they could travel together, about post remittances, global warming, about Jonghyun’s love for animals, about everything. They ordered room-service twice, and watched the weather through the window while they cuddled under the sheets, the snowflakes becoming a blur of thousands and thousands of white stars melting into each other as it covered the entire city.

Only a few hours, that’s all Minhyun really has. That’s what he’s always had. He tries to make them memorable, tries to make them perfect for Jonghyun, to not lose a single minute with something unimportant or stupid, being mindful of each second Jonghyun has. Minhyun keeps it simple with things like, _How was your day? Did you eat? Is there anything I can get for you? What do you want to do?_

Everything else becomes irrelevant that nothing exists, just Jonghyun. Just _them_.

The scenario is always the same. When Jonghyun knocks on the door— the last one down the hall on the fifth floor that Minhyun spent thirty minutes anxiously waiting behind— Minhyun pulls him right inside in barely a breath. He wraps Jonghyun in his arms and holds him tight, terrified that he’ll wrench away, that he’ll take a step back and leave, just like he should, and just like Minhyun knows he will, one day.

He kisses and caresses him, mapping sharp curves and edges and familiar lines along Jonghyun’s body. He fights with the zipper of Jonghyun’s jacket and the ridiculously long sleeves of his shirt, thinks that Jonghyun always wears too many layers just to mess with him and drive him insane, pulling at the fabric that doesn’t want to cooperate until seams are tearing and clothes are flying in every direction.

Jonghyun always laughs at that, at him, tells him to take it easy, slow down and give him a second to catch his breath at least, but his own hands are just as equally greedy and desperate, wanting to touch Minhyun in every place, feel every space, getting each other in the way.

Minhyun loves him like that, loves knowing that he’s not alone, that although Jonghyun has everything in his life, he still keeps running back to him, for this, for something that neither of them asked for, but neither can refuse.

Sometimes it’s rough and needy, sometimes it’s slow and agonizing. Minhyun likes both versions, but he especially enjoys the latter. When there’s enough time for everything. With faked patience he can only pretend because he’s dying to lose himself in Jonghyun, climb to the very top, just to fall, only to have Jonghyun drag him back and tease him, make him moan impatiently. When they can keep it up until they are both writhing and panting, burning skin damp and slick with sweat. Jonghyun is never more beautiful than in these moments, his determination in getting Minhyun off first, twice, thrice even, that at times he forgets to consider himself, and Minhyun can’t hold back the helpless sounds that escape him as he’s being pushed to the edge of pleasure, the way his body screams for Jonghyun, drawing him near, pulling him in, until they’re one, and Minhyun can’t tell where he ends and Jonghyun begins.

“I can’t,” Jonghyun says now, still staring ahead, capturing the scene of the storm in front of him, partly draped in light and partly covered in darkness. Minhyun thinks, with depressing realization, that it’s how he’s always seen Jonghyun. Just partly.

“Can’t? Or don’t want to?”

Jonghyun shrugs his shoulders and opens his mouth, only to close it again.

“It just doesn’t feel right,” he replies finally.

Minhyun bites the inside of his cheek because it’s so fucking typical of Jonghyun to feel bad about staying for the night when he’s just been unfaithful, has been repeatedly for more than a year.

“She’s out of the country,” Minhyun reminds him, knowing that she is and will be for a couple more days. “She doesn’t know you’re here and she’s not going to know. So why can’t you stay with me… Just once?”

Jonghyun doesn’t move, he doesn’t pull away. But he looks like he wants to, torn between staying and running, unable to decide.

“Please, Jonghyun. One night.”

Heaving a sigh, Jonghyun turns around and leans back against the window, resting his hands firmly on Minhyun’s waist, the tips of his fingers almost unpleasantly cold on Minhyun’s bare skin. There’s something sad in his eyes, a little reluctant and a little reconciled. Minhyun knows it’s a disaster just waiting to happen, every time they meet like this, no matter how they both truly feel. Every time he opens the door to find Jonghyun standing there, hesitating and waiting, the guilt so evident it’s almost tangible. But still, Jonghyun comes to him, always.

Just a few hours, sometimes even less, never more. Jonghyun’s kind of like Cinderella who disappears when the clock strikes midnight, and all the disguises and illusions dissipate. Eventually, always, masks get torn, colors fade, the magic evaporates, then there’s only a man beneath; wounded, vulnerable, running.

There are days when Minhyun feels like he’s a hiring a prostitute. Just that dirty and low feeling of complete emptiness. Only he doesn’t pay. Though, maybe if he did, he could make Jonghyun stay. But Jonghyun is far from a stranger with a fake identity and questionable history. He’s also much more than he’s willing to show, or give, at times like these.

Seconds pass, quiet intensity, just mildly disturbed by the slow ceasing rain and their breathing, and Minhyun is sure that the answer will definitely be no. A regretful, disappointed no, maybe, but still no, solid and final, crushing even the tiniest fragment of Minhyun’s hope.

But then Jonghyun nods, smiling, if barely. “OK.”

Sometimes, a promise is unpleasantly far from an act, from reality, but Minhyun is too selfish to give it any conscious thought. The knowledge that this is so, _so_ incredibly wrong. It’s the one fear he’s learned to ignore, deny. It’s somewhat easier that way.

Minhyun looks down at the beautiful hands coasting across his stomach, leaving a trail of slow want in their wake, then becoming more persistent when Jonghyun’s fingertips brush the skin over Minhyun’s chest. He looks at the subtle tan line on Jonghyun’s ring finger that says so much more than Jonghyun ever will. He never wears it, not here. As if cheating was easier without it.

He glances up to meet Jonghyun’s eyes, but Jonghyun isn’t looking back, he’s looking at a spot somewhere on Minhyun’s shoulder.

The silence that occurs then is the loudest Minhyun has ever heard. It’s strained and heavy, suffocating, and he feels like he’s choking on it. He usually likes silence, but he doesn’t like Jonghyun’s silence. It’s seconds, no more, but it’s unbearable enough for him to finally speak up, without truly knowing what’s he’s planning to say.

“Jonghyun?”

Something in Jonghyun’s eyes flickers, the sorrow in them getting even more captivating.

He takes a shallow breath, biting the corner of his bottom lip. “Who is he?” Jonghyun asks, his voice soft, tracing the shape of the nearly faded bite mark on Minhyun’s collarbone with the pad of this thumb.

The purple-pink bruise that Dongho had left there two days ago, evidently convinced that it was an entertaining idea. Minhyun didn’t think so at the time, and he definitely doesn’t think it’s funny now, not when Jonghyun’s looking at him like this, a frown etched in between his eyebrows, his eyes shadowed with something close to jealousy.

“No one,” Minhyun replies, and he isn’t lying.

Dongho is a close friend, his best friend, but no more. Though, there are moments, nights like the one before yesterday, when they’re both feeling a little too lonely and empty, when their glasses of wine are no longer full, and the bottles of beer make a row of collapsed statues at their feet, when the meaning of friendship tilts a little, slipping into something ambiguous.

“Minhyun.”

“He’s not important.”

“Could be.”

“No.”

“Could be,” Jonghyun repeats, sounding more insistent. There’s an annoyance to his tone and a tiny, almost unnoticeable shade of concern, fear. “If you let him.”

“No. He couldn’t.”

There are people, some more important, some completely insignificant, Minhyun is no saint and never has tried to be one. There have been a few dates and one-night-stands he doesn’t really regret. But no one who cuts deep enough, no one who leaves more than just a fleeting imprint that disappears come morning light. No one is Jonghyun. No one can soothe the pulsing ache inside of him because it is, after all, Jonghyun who left it there in the first place.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Jonghyun moves his hand higher to touch Minhyun’s mouth, silencing him because he knows that Minhyun will protest against his next words, or at least try.

“You’re wasting your life with me. Like this. You could be happy.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not. You can’t be. Not like this.”

Minhyun could argue. Try to convince Jonghyun that he is, that he lives full and free, and that Jonghyun doesn’t tie him down in any way, couldn’t if Minhyun didn’t let him. But he doesn’t want to.

Instead, he gazes at Jonghyun, for a moment, without being aware. Jonghyun watches him with soft eyes, caring and worried, always gentle. He’s well aware of the fact that, after all this time, he should be more than use to Jonghyun’s observing eyes, but he’s not. Not at all. Minhyun can see the tiny flecks of stars flickering beneath the two twin pools of inky swirls. Minhyun feels like he could stare forever into them, shimmering as the night sky, at once clear and opaque. He sees himself reflected on the surface, but what lies deep underneath Minhyun will drown over and over just to know.

They had taken a shower together, less than ten minutes ago, kneeing and elbowing each other until they were cramped in together, water sloshing on the tiled floor, dabbers of foam sliding leisurely down their bodies, and since then, Jonghyun’s hair has been smelling like coconuts. His skin is still too warm, and Minhyun doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to think, or move, he just wants to stay like this, with Jonghyun’s firm body pressed against his and the beating of his heart echoing through Minhyun’s body. Sooner or later, he will try and take Jonghyun’s hand, which is currently resting on his shoulder, to move a little more south.

“Kiss me,” Minhyun hears himself say before he can stop himself, voice thick with want, weak with it too.

In truth, Minhyun is asking for permission, every time. He’s asking if he’s allowed to break in and wreck everything, to vandalize and tear everything down, everything holding Jonghyun’s life together. Everything that keeps him grounded, everything that makes him a man.

Minhyun knows what he’s asking for, even when he has no right to ask, especially not from Jonghyun because Jonghyun doesn’t owe him a thing. But Minhyun continues to demand it anyway, his hand moving lower, over the belt buckle, then a little further, over the line of the zipper, lower, until he finds what he’s really searching for. Jonghyun gives into him, leaning into his hand as Minhyun kneads him gently. A suppressed groan pushes its way pass through Jonghyun’s lips, and then with those same, plush lips, he kisses Minhyun with a light touch of his tongue slipping in.

Jonghyun is a temptation when he’s far. But up close, he’s a fire. An unavoidable car wreck. Everything he does, every kiss, touch, thrust, is filled with the promises he’s made to someone else, everything he’s sworn, to have and to hold, to carry out, and Minhyun just takes it, all of it.

The air around them changes. It becomes somber, more serious as Minhyun’s breathing accelerates, his pulse picking up the pace, and he wonders how it’s imperative for his body to welcome Jonghyun like he just belongs. Jonghyun’s lips are open against Minhyun’s. They taste like wrong and _stop_ and _no_ , like all the wonderful nights they made love— then, now, tomorrow, next week— Jonghyun’s tongue teasing, flirting with his, then withdrawing, making Minhyun blindly follow, making Minhyun tremble and moan, and finally, fall apart.

Somewhere, between the next breath and the one thereafter, between eager hands fighting to touch the hardness beneath those jeans, Minhyun says, “I love you,” and means it, more than he’s ever meant anything else.

Another groan leaves Jonghyun’s mouth, and the hand that comes up to rest at the nape of Minhyun’s neck is suddenly warm, heavy. He knows Minhyun, maybe too well, and he knows that nothing can move him if he doesn’t want to be moved, so Jonghyun simply surrenders himself. There’s a smile, just a shadow of it tugging at the corners of his mouth as he snakes his fingers into Minhyun’s hair, grabbing a handful of it, tugging firmly. His lips part on a quiet, barely audible, “I love you too,” and Minhyun actually thinks that he feels these words brushing his mouth more than he really hears them. Either way, the admission makes Minhyun’s heart race and makes his heart break too, because this, right here, is Jonghyun being true to him.

“Come on,” Minhyun whispers, impatience lacing his tone, his fingers struggling with the belt on Jonghyun’s jeans. It takes a little too long, but eventually, he succeeds, and he rips it out from the belt loops, throwing the band off to the side with a loud thud, proving a point.

“OK, OK,” Jonghyun huffs out in surrender, chuckling softly.

With a small ruffle of fabric, he slips out of his jeans and underwear, and then he’s bare, skin everywhere.

Minhyun pulls him back in for a kiss. He goes hard. Crushing his lips against Jonghyun’s like he can kiss away the tide of sensation. But he can’t. It just grows and grows, until the weight of skin on skin, the heat emanating from their bodies has Minhyun feeling seven kinds of sin that it’s inevitable to want more— more skin, more Jonghyun, more of that tongue melting against his and the feel for something other than teasing friction.

He presses himself to Jonghyun and his whole body goes taut because there is nothing that compares to the feeling of Jonghyun’s erection rubbing against his. Minhyun knows it’s over before it’s even started when Jonghyun runs his hands down the breadth of his body, going lower, further, until Minhyun feels Jonghyun’s fingers wrap firmly around the hardness there that’s been waiting for him.

A sigh flows out from Minhyun’s mouth and then Jonghyun is dropping to his knees, his hands warm on Minhyun’s solid flesh. Jonghyun lets out a low sound, almost like a whisper. Minhyun has his hands in Jonghyun’s hair, just resting there, not trying to direct him at all, content on letting the other man press his lips and lick at his own slow, teasing pace in a way that has Minhyun throwing his head back and thrusting his hips forward, groaning inadvertently from the sensation.

Jonghyun doesn’t respond with the same sounds as Minhyun, he just grunts out a low, husky breath, shifting himself so that he can comfortably suck the head of Minhyun’s length into his mouth, tongue sliding forward, slow and deliberate, and then he’s moving in languid tempo, a smooth rhythm to his own song, his mouth hot and wet and deep, and Minhyun can feel Jonghyun’s throat, and it’s like, _oh god_ , it’s like, _oh fuck_ , and Minhyun chokes out sounds he can’t hold back. Jonghyun is amazing at what he does, he’s so good that it makes Minhyun tighten up, makes him want to spill out and down Jonghyun’s throat. But he makes him stop, pulling out and pulling Jonghyun up just to hold him, to regain some composure because if he doesn’t it’ll be over, and Minhyun won’t be able to go on.

“Jonghyun,” he says, his voice quiet and fragile, out of breath.

“Yeah?” Jonghyun replies, his voice deep and rough, fucked out.

Minhyun tries a warm smile. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” Jonghyun all but mumbles.

It looks like Jonghyun is about to say something more, but the words pass by, unspoken. Jonghyun flicks out his tongue to run it over his bottom lip, meeting Minhyun’s eyes with a heavy, loaded look. His lips curl into a small smile of encouragement, and then Jonghyun’s lips are touching his lips. Minhyun tastes a bit of himself at the same time he tastes all the lies they keep between them. Jonghyun moves against him, tries to tell Minhyun non-verbally that he’s willing, and Minhyun is so good at reading him that he spares a moment to enjoy how well they fit together. Jonghyun and Minhyun. Minhyun and Jonghyun. Yeah. Minhyun is taller than Jonghyun by a strand of hair, but Minhyun would never know it in most instances. Jonghyun’s presence is a like a dark cloud, brewing heavily with tension, and his touches are just as lethal, almost maddening, the warmth and the taste and the smell of Jonghyun all around him, amped up to the maximum that Minhyun feels more than just his life slipping.

The bed comes up hard and sudden behind Minhyun’s legs, and his knees give way as he tumbles onto it. Jonghyun follows him; landing heavily on top of him as they sink into the mattress in a series of giggles and breathless groans and gasps.

Sliding against Jonghyun every time is like going home, falling home. Soft and hard and aching, the beads of their slickness leaking everywhere across their stomachs. They move together, a gradual dance of limbs and tense muscle and skin, two bodies entwined. Minhyun yields beneath Jonghyun’s weight, the sensation extorting pathetic noises from him, perspiration breaking out across his skin, his neck and chest flushing with heat. It feels like he’s floating on a slowly rising wave that never crests, just swelling higher and higher. Jonghyun’s panting, hard, unevenly, his hips shifting, moving with him, giving, taking, at once all-consuming, because Jonghyun belongs here, deep inside this small vacuum of space and time with him. Jonghyun moans very little, but he grunts a lot, exhaling a _“fuck”_ here and there, and Minhyun swallows every sound and breath he makes, storing them in his memory, in his heart. The familiar scent of sweat on Jonghyun’s skin, the tremble in his body as they thrust against each other with increasing rhythm. The thirst for release spiraling and the desperate need to prolong the tumble, to forget all the wrongness in this and take in the pleasure of the moment, in the innocence of their relationship of long before.

 

♡

 

The morning light, making its way through the open blinds, always brings difference. Like it’s lifting some veil of truth that the night had covered with darkness. The reality of marrying the wrong person at what seemed to be the right moment and finding the right one at the wrong time. At least that’s the truth Minhyun believes, and deep down, maybe, Jonghyun believes it as well.

Minhyun can feel the vacant space in the bed beside him, senses it almost like another entity. Something that is literally driving them apart. The quietness of the room is deafening, and it crashes against him like a cold wind, sweeping across his chest and leaving a chill in the gaps between his ribs and Minhyun doesn’t like it, this emptiness. He doesn’t like the sharp realization of _“What am I going to do now?”_ that comes every time Jonghyun has to leave, and he wishes he could keep the day at bay, far, for a few more hours.

Ever since he’s met Jonghyun, he’s wondered why it had it be him, of all people. Why it had to be Jonghyun with his star-filled eyes and gentle smile that brings light to an empty room, or why it’s only ever been Jonghyun that can make Minhyun feel like there’s a small fire burning somewhere inside of him, the warmth spreading out into his toes and fingers.

In the dawn-lit dimness of the hotel room, Minhyun realizes it’s the dumbest question he could ask himself since the only answer he’s ever had has been because _“I don’t want anyone else.”_

Minhyun turns over, frustrated, and feigns sleep, instead, he watches Jonghyun through his lashes as he moves around, collecting the scattered pieces of his clothing, his wallet, and cell phone. His skin is glowing under the mellow light and he looks creamy and golden, so ethereal-like.

The sun catches on Jonghyun’s jewelry, casting glimmers of the ring with which he’s tied to her, like the vow he gave her one day in May, a few years ago. On his necklace, the gold, delicate cable chain with a tiny compass that points him to Minhyun, slightly south-west of his heart, a gift that Minhyun had given him during a short trip to Japan, and a sentimental belonging that Minhyun knows Jonghyun will never leave home without.

“Stop it. I can see you, you know,” Jonghyun says, as he smooths the sweater down his stomach and looks up at Minhyun, almost threateningly.

Minhyun yawns ungracefully and sits up, blinking. “What? I’m sleeping here.”

“You’re perving on me.”

“I’m _watching_ you,” Minhyun corrects because there is a difference. “You have no idea how fascinating that is, or how beautiful you are to me.”

“You’re so full of it,” Jonghyun states, with a chuckle that is both warm and bitter. He sighs and looks around, patting his pockets. There’s a dull thump of his wallet, louder, more plastic of his cellphone, and a quiet clinking of keys.

There’s nothing more to look for, nothing more to do. He catches Minhyun’s eyes, regarding him, knowing, and offers a small smile, as sweet as a fresh sip of lemonade. He looks genuinely confused, clueless, like he truly hasn’t realized where he is and what’s happened between them, again, until now.

“Come here to me,” Minhyun says softly, as he pushes himself up to his knees, reaching out with both arms and balling his fists in the fabric of Jonghyun’s sweater when he’s close enough.

Jonghyun goes willingly, sliding his hand around the nape of Minhyun’s neck to tilt his head just right, and sighing quietly when their lips meet in a kiss that is slow, almost lazy, but enough to make Minhyun’s heart beat a little faster, and which tastes nothing like the goodbye that it is.

Later, but way too soon in Minhyun’s opinion, Jonghyun pulls back and runs his fingertips down Minhyun’s face, following the line of his cheekbone and jawline. Only to move up again and brush the loose strand of Minhyun’s hair away from his eyes. Then he smiles and steps back.

Everything about Jonghyun, the tight set of his jaw, his posture, slightly hunched, the way he’s completely unguarded when he’s around Minhyun, says, _I want to stay._ All it takes is just a single action for him to do so, to be happy in Minhyun’s arms, but what Jonghyun really says instead is, “You take care of yourself, OK?” his voice cracking just a little.

It hurts to pull away, to let go. It’s sad to see the dazed expression on Jonghyun’s face, the want and guilt in his darkened eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jonghyun,” Minhyun says. But he’s not, not really, and he thinks that Jonghyun knows that too.

With the backpack thrown over his shoulder, Jonghyun’s already walking away, reaching for the doorknob, not glancing back.

“I’ll see you, right?” Minhyun calls out, panicked all of a sudden because this is it, this is finally the day where Jonghyun walks out of his life and never comes back.

Jonghyun’s basically out in the corridor and closing the door, when his eyes flicker up to meet Minhyun’s. They’re warm and they don’t say goodbye.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t say when, but he doesn’t say no, and that’s good enough for now. That’s always good enough for Minhyun.

 

 


End file.
